A Little Research

[horseboykarl]

After Bernard finally knocked some sense into me, I looked around at my life and was disgusted. The house is beyond messy and I think I should just get a shovel to clear it out. I start with the kitchen and by the time I have it set to rights, I can't deal with any more housework.

Remembering some of the other things Bernard said, I decide to do some research. I have been thinking I've gone crazy, but what if I haven't? I'm not sure if that would be a relief or not, would mean that the world at large is crazy and I'd almost rather it was just me.

I'll trot into Wellie and visit one of the bookshops over on Cuba street. They get a lot of traffic from the university, so one of them will certainly have what I need. I get the bike, thinking that it's time I started enjoying life's simple pleasures again.

I park the bike and stroll down the street, peering at the windows. Finally, I come to one, Moby Dickens, cute name, but the display catches my eye. It's a series of manikins, lying about on the floor and on a couch, holding books, all reading. Cozy. All right, you hooked me.

The door has an old-fashioned bell over it and the building housing the store is old, with an uneven wood floor. The cash register is hi-tech though. They advertise a café upstairs, but the books are my quarry for now. There are many over-stuffed, beat-up looking arm chairs spread out, a few occupied, but it's early afternoon on a Tuesday, most of the kids must be in classes.

I follow the hand lettered signs to the psychology section. I stare at the hundreds of titles, bemused. I have no bloody idea where to start. One of the assistants climbs down from a ladder and ambles over.

"Can I help you, mate?"

"Do you have anything on abnormal psychology, like schizophrenia or multiple personalities?"

"Well, there's Oltman's Abnormal Psychology, required reading for Professor Hyde-White's class, very technical . . . ?"

I shake my head.

"Right then, here's Essentials of Abnormal Psychology, more of a layman's version, and this is also good. Here." He pulls out several volumes.

"Can I browse?"

"Sure, help yourself to a chair, there's coffee and pastries upstairs, if you've a mind."

"Thanks, mate, you've been a big help." I reach out to shake his hand.

He takes it, his grip warm and firm. "Funny, you don't look crazy." He is smiling and his eyes are twinkling.

I realize with a start that he's flirting with me. Been so long since that's happened I didn't even notice. I look at him more carefully. Dark red hair, wavy, down to his shoulders, pale green eyes, dusting of freckles across his nose, trimmed beard, height a few inches shorter than I am, compact, strong hands. Wearing a faded flannel shirt and equally faded jeans. Must be a few years older than me, for the red is shot with silver at the temples. Maybe forty then.

But I have no idea what to do. It's not that I'm not interested, but I just can't think about things like that for now, not till I'm sure that my brains aren't scrambled. But I don't want to come off as an insensitive git, in case I decide to come back.

My body decides part of it for me, and I'm blushing. Fuck this shit. "It's always the ones that don't look it."

He laughs at that, but he turns to go back to his duties. I exhale a relieved breath, I didn't want to field a pass today, but I didn't want to totally cut off the possibility either. So Red has a sense of tact, another tick in the plus column.

I settle into one of the comfortable chairs, going through the books he picked out. Finally I decide on two of them and go to the front to pay for them. Red is no where in sight, and the cashier is a bored-looking bint.

My stomach lets out a warning rumble and I realize it's way past lunch, closer to dinner. Another thing Bernard did for me, brought my appetite back. What the hell. I climb the spiral staircase to the café, tiny little place with more couches and chairs on the perimeter of the walls and little rickety tables. They have something called a ham roll, which turns out to be ham baked into a bread type thing. I order two and a large cup of coffee and settle onto a couch with my food and my purchases.

I quickly find the chapters on multiple personality disorder. One of the main symptoms seems to be persistent amnesia, which definitely fits me. But it seems that cases of this result from a childhood filled with severe sexual and other sorts of abuse. The mind evidently becomes so stressed that it creates other personalities in an attempt by the main personality to escape from the abuse it suffers. The case studies in the books could be the plots of horror movies. But then I find that some doctors think that this doesn't exist at all, but that therapists unintentionally implant these ideas in their patient's minds, create false memories of horrific abuse.

All right, I've never seen a therapist in my life, so what I'm experiencing can't have been created this way. So that leaves the abuse option. I worked fucking hard on the farm, but there was no sort of abuse involved, I can't even remember any of the adults in my life raising a hand to me. And my brain wasn't experiencing any stress until after my second personality showed up. So the stress was caused by the shift, not the other way around. Maybe he is real.

I get several refills on the coffee, making numerous notes in the books. When I finally lose my concentration, I realize it's almost dark. I get my stuff together and go back down to the bookstore.

Red is at the counter this time. "Find what you were looking for?" he asks pleasantly. His eyes are warm and holding mine.

"Yeah, thanks."

"Good, keep us in mind anytime your looking for something unusual. We stock a lot of things that are out of print."

My dick twitches as I wonder whether there is any subtext to that statement. And I can't help but ask, "What's your name? I'm Karl."

"Urban, I know. My name's Eric."

I find myself blushing again. "Uh . . . "

He laughs, "This is Wellie after all. Everybody knows the cast of Rings."

I smile at that. "Well, maybe I'll come back some time."

And I can't deal with the look in his eyes anymore, so I leave hurriedly. Maybe someday I'll feel strong enough to take him up on that offer that I see there.

I'm fairly satisfied with my day; I have discovered a few things about my supposed disease and I'm reluctantly conceding that I don't really fit the profile for this disorder. God, what does that mean?

If I accept that Éomer is real and not a product of my twisted mind, how does that change things? I don't know if it gives me more control over the situation or less. For one thing, I'm still stuck with him, no matter what the answer is. And his bloody personality isn't going to change; he's still going to be an annoying wanker whether I believe in him or not.

I sigh. If he's real, then things are worse. If I was sick, there was some hope that I could be cured. Now . . . fuck I don't even understand how it happened, much less how to stop it.

And if he's real, then I can't predict what he's going to do. I sort of understood the cruising and picking up club kids, but the cousin thing really has me weirded out. I never would have guessed that relationship existed, not in that form, anyway.

Fuck. I'm never going to get my life back, never going to be free of him, never going to be safe enough to have a normal relationship . . . as I walk back to the bike, I can't help but picture Eric's warm green eyes looking at me that way. A wave of lust nearly overwhelms me and suddenly I'm scared shitless again. This is how he breaks through, and I'm not ready to face him yet.

I'm afraid to go home in this state, afraid that if I sleep, he'll get loose and go looking for Théodred and I'll wake up next to Paris again. There's no way I can handle that. Not again, not now.

Shit. Only one thing to do. I turn the bike towards the harbour, looking for the sleaziest dive I can find.